Dichotomy
by KeroseneDreams
Summary: Jaune was sixteen when the visions started; visions of war, of death, of a life not his own. Then came the voice, speaking of shadow wars, of gods and magic. He couldn't have known that Destiny had long since dealt him his hand; the Wizard's power had come to him. Ozpin!Jaune AU
1. Visions

**(A/N) Hello there, readers.**

 **I've noticed a frankly criminal lack of Ozpin!Jaune stories on this site.**

 **Here's a little drabble to rectify that for you.**

* * *

 _Jaune couldn't have placed the day the dreams - no, the nightmares - had started._

 _They began some time after his sixteenth birthday; visions of fire, of war, of battle; flashing behind his eyelids as he ate breakfast, walked to school, did his homework, or spoke to his friends over scroll. Jaune was haunted constantly by images he had never borne witness to._

 _He told nobody, of course._

 _It didn't go unnoticed by his parents, naturally. Nor by his seven sisters. They could practically pick out the moment the... thing... would occur - a minuscule flinch, a twitch of the eyebrow - always followed by Jaune's mood collapsing like a paper bag, his attention falling inwards to introspection._

 _They couldn't figure out exactly what happened, had no way of knowing, and Jaune, ever desperate to be like the strong, dependable man his father represented, shouldered his burden alone. He could handle it, thought Jaune. He must, for the sake of the world, because when he finally got out there and made a real difference, he would make sure none of that ever happened._

 _Months of mental anguish later, however, Jaune's hand was forced; something had to change, and change it did._

* * *

Sixteen-year-old Jaune Arc sighed as he folded the towel over the heat-rail once more. Mustering up the motivation to dress himself for the second time that day - evening showers weren't an uncommon occurrence for the teen - he wandered out into the hall of the Arc residence, and made his way down into the, currently empty, dining room.

Today had been a good day, he mused to himself, as things went. He'd only had one of the... _visions_. He'd gotten nearly six hours of sleep last night - nearly breaking his own record. The bags under his eyes seemed less prominent, the lines forming between his brows slightly more shallow, and his mind, dare he say it, a little more at ease than usual.

Jaune dared not hope the reprieve would last long.

A voice broke his musings.

"Son?"

His father was still downstairs, evidently. The man stared at him stoically from across the room, sitting in one of the lavish armchairs that decorated the area. A glass of amber liquid rested in his hand, the patterns on it reflecting the dim light from the fireplace and playing shadows across the man's face. The bottle sat innocuously on the coffee table between them.

"Dad." Jaune acknowledged tonelessly. He knew the look on his dad's face. They were going to have a Talk.

He sat down opposite his father.

There was silence for a moment, before his father spoke.

"You're seventeen in a month, Jaune." And when Jaune thought about it, he realised it was true. "You forgot?"

"Yeah."

A beat. His father swirled his drink in his hand.

"... What's going on, Jaune?" The man leaned forward. "You've been like this for months. You're tired, you hardly talk, and there are times you're just... not there."

"... I guess I'm just not sleeping well." Jaune shrugged.

"Don't give me that crap, Jaune." His father spoke sharply. Jaune flinched slightly. Okay, so that wasn't going to fly tonight, got it. "Do you think we don't see it? You'll do that... _thing_ you do at random moments, and then you have a very particular look on your face. Do you know what it looks like, Jaune?"

Jaune didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"They call it the Thousand Yard Stare. It's the look military veterans get after they go to battle one too many times. It's the look Huntsmen get after their first real failure." Jaune's father took a sip of his drink. "It's the look I - well, I can see it on my own face, sometimes. It means you've seen war... suffering... _death_... so you tell me, why do I see it on my son?"

Silence.

"This can't go on, Jaune. You're dead on your feet." It hurt, hearing that tone in his father's voice. It was desperate and so earnest, and Jaune felt his stomach sinking through his feet. "Your mother and sisters are worried about you, Jaune-"

"I know, alright!" Jaune burst out. He breathed in deeply then let it out in a great gust of air. His father sat back, having gotten through to his son through his one soft spot - his sisters. "... I know."

This time, the man opposite him let the silence settle.

Perhaps it was time to tell somebody? Jaune turned the idea over in his head. No - he would be dismissed as insane - but would he? This was his family, they loved him, they would never think him insane, right?

A sound broke the silence; the _clink_ of glass meeting glass. Jaune focused his attention back on the man opposite him, who was pouring some of the liquid into a second glass. It was slid towards him.

"Why-"

"Because you're going to tell me." His father smiled for the first time that night, small and yet overflowing with unidentifiable emotion. "I can see it in your face. I got through to you."

Jaune looked at the glass.

"Take it. You're going to be a man, soon, Jaune." He did so. "That's a man's drink."

Jaune sipped, then winced as the sensation hit his tongue. Nevertheless, he swallowed the bitter, fiery liquid down; he didn't want to disappoint his father. The boy sighed, pulled up his courage, and slowly spoke.

"I get... images. Visions. Nightmares, really. They're... violent, mostly. Fighting. Murder. Sometimes it happens in front of me. Sometimes I'm the one doing it... or, whoever's perspective it is I'm watching from... I don't know."

"Visions..." Jaune's father hummed and sipped his drink. Jaune mirrored the action, once again grimacing at the taste. "Go on. You said 'mostly'. What did you mean?"

"... I get images of people, too, sometimes. It often happens when I'm sleeping, the visions I mean, and I get emotions then too sometimes... never any names, though. Actually, I never hear words, just..."

"Just the sounds of death." His father nodded sympathetically - at least, Jaune thought it was sympathetic. He didn't seem to have been written off as a maniac yet; did his father know something about it?

"Yeah." He nodded. "All those times I... go vacant, out of nowhere... it's because something triggered a vision. I never found a pattern."

A long moment passed where nothing was said. Jaune absently sipped at his drink again; it seemed to be going down easier now.

"Have you tried anything to help with them?" His father asked. "Medication? Anything?"

"No..." Jaune muttered. "I never told anyone. I thought you'd think I'm insane."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Jaune's head snapped up. "Calm down, son. It's the natural response... but it's not the one I'm going with. It fits too well with what I've seen. No, I believe you."

Jaune sagged in relief and took a gulp of his drink. Coughing slightly, he gave his father a weak smile; the expression felt depressingly unfamiliar on his face.

"But the question that remains now is... _why_?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you getting visions?" His father asked.

"I did wonder about that myself, for a while." Jaune's voice was stronger now, emboldened by his drink and his father's faith. "I... guess I stopped wondering after a while and just tried to live with it."

"Well, that's not worked, now has it? Let's try something else." His father spoke gruffly, but the tone was fond. The weight that had been pressing on Jaune's shoulders had already begun lessening just a little, and the mood has lightened somewhat now that he had let out the reason for his stress. "Any ideas?"

"Is it possible that... I dunno, it could be my aura or something?" A weak grasp at an idea, but surprisingly, his father latched onto it.

"Your aura?" _Sip_. "It's possible - it could be an odd manifestation of a semblance, perhaps... empathic abilities? Some form of telepathy? Maybe you're latching onto somebody else's experiences...?"

Jaune stayed silent. He made to take a sip, only to realise the glass had been emptied. He reached over to the bottle and made to pour another, but found his father's much larger hand on his.

"All things in moderation, Jaune." He chided. He tilted it slightly, letting a small amount pour out, enough to fill a little less than half the glass. "You'll thank me tomorrow morning."

Jaune have a half-chuckle and leaned back, watching as his father poured out his own (noticeably larger) portion. A thought sprung to mind.

"Dad..." Jaune began.

"Hmm?" _Sip_.

"I think I understand why you never trained me to be a Huntsman now." His father froze for a second.

"I guess you figured that out, huh." The man ran a hand through his mane of golden hair. "Look, I-"

"No, I get it." Jaune smiled, a genuine smile, if slightly sad. "These visions of mine... they gave me a bit of perspective. I understand the danger a lot better now. I know it's not just... just a fairytale."

"Fairytales..." Jaune's father chuckled slightly. "I guess it's your mother and I's fault for filling your head with stories, huh."

"I don't blame you, really." The boy shook his head. "I'm actually quite glad I got a reality check now, and not... I don't know, when I ran off to Beacon to try and be a hero or something."

"Hah! I can imagine you doing something like that six months ago, but now? Not a chance." A brief laugh ensued, followed by a comfortable silence.

Jaune took the opportunity to turn his thoughts inwards, and he marvelled at how... light he felt. It was as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders just a little bit; it was an amazing sensation. So this was what just _telling_ someone felt like? For the briefest of moments, something sparked in Jaune's heart; a flicker of hope that maybe he could be free of his... curse.

Jaune smiled a little to himself.

"Jaune." His father spoke suddenly.

"Yeah? What?" Jaune looked at him questioningly.

"We're going to unlock your aura."

Jaune's eyes widened and the gears in his mind stopped working for a minute.

"I- but- why?"

"If it is your Semblance, the only way to gain control of it is by unlocking it fully, and to do that..."

"... I need to have my aura. Right." Jaune nodded, a little dazed. "But... you don't want me to be a-"

"You don't have to be a Huntsman just because your aura is unlocked, Jaune." His father explained patiently. "There are a few procedures to follow - make sure the government can keep track of the people who _have_ aura - but besides that, you can live a normal life."

"Right. Okay." He nodded mindlessly. His father downed his glass and rose, the slightest of sways to his step. Jaune mirrored his action once more, the height difference becoming clear - Jaune's six feet paled next to his six-and-a-half foot monster of a father. Jaune promptly fell over again as his legs turned to jelly.

"That's alcohol for you, Jaune." His Dad chuckled, pulling him up. Steadying himself, Jaune laughed slightly. "You're _juuust_ a bit tipsy right now. Don't get used to it; your mother will kill us both if she knows I let you drink at sixteen."

"Okay."

Jaune, led by his father, half-walked half-staggered his way outside into the cool night air. His mother and sisters had retired for the night, thankfully. He felt the cool ground beneath his feet and wiggled his toes a little, absently enjoying the feeling.

"Face up, Jaune."

They were in the middle of their yard. An expanse of grass about fifteen metres either way, mostly shaded in darkness save for the light of the dining room shining through the door, extended out either way. His father stood a few feet away, his imposing silhouette standing out from the background.

"Are you ready for this, Jaune?" His dad's hands fell onto his shoulders and he was looked in the eye. The significance of the moment wasn't lost on him. He steeled his nerves; this was what he wanted. He _would_ fix himself.

"Yeah."

"Then close your eyes and listen well."

He did so.

"For it is in death that we fulfil our purpose... Through it, we become the embodiment of sacrifice to shoulder the burdens of the world. Martyred by life and undone by love, I emancipate your soul and by my hand, _condemn thee!_ "

Jaune's world exploded.

An infinite number of voices cascaded into his ears all at once and yet not at all, the cacophony throwing him off balance, but he was not stood on the grassy floor of his backyard anymore, he was falling through an endless abyss and the images rushed past him, people, names, places, events, death, rebirth, again and again, over and over and over and please let it be over, _I just want it to stop-_

 _"_ _Hello. I'm professor Ozpin."_

His world went black.

* * *

 **(A/N) Well, that was fun. If I get any interest in the story I may even be motivated to make a part 2. One can only dream, ne?**


	2. The Voice

**(A/N) Greetings, readers.**

 **Here is a chapter.**

 **It is early.**

 **More at the end.**

 **That is all.**

* * *

Jaune awoke in his bed.

Sensation returned slowly. Touch came first; the soft, familiar feeling of his mattress, his sheets, his pillow. Then smell and taste: more specifically, the dryness of his mouth and the more-than-slightly foul stench of his own breath, feelings he acknowledged right around the time the migraine kicked in.

The unfortunate youth didn't wait for sight and sound, instead stumbling blindly toward the door that led to the bathroom and then to the toilet. Flinging up the seat, he collapsed before it and promptly disgorged the remains of last night's dinner, as well as the... _"refreshments"_ his father had so _kindly_ provided during their conversation last night.

A hangover, Jaune noted absently, continuing to dry heave into the toilet bowl. Sight had, thankfully, returned to him, the spirits last night having not rendered him blind, and soon he would be treated to the auditory aspects of his... ' _worshipping the porcelain throne_ '.

No, Jaune decided, he was _not_ in a good mood this morning.

A few minutes later, mouth rinsed thoroughly and teeth brushed for good measure, Jaune wandered his way out of the bathroom just in time to appreciate how his _oh-so-kind_ father had left his curtains wide open. Coincidentally, his room happened to face east. Also coincidentally, the sun happened to _rise_ in the east. A fact his eyes were rather violently protesting about.

Jaune not-so-patiently yanked the curtains closed.

Having shut the curtains and emptied his guts, the sixteen-year-old found a half-empty bottle of water and downed it, feeling the slightest bit of life return to his body.

Jaune was never going to drink again.

"Fuck you, alcohol, and fuck you too, dad." He groaned, flopping backwards onto his pillow. His voice was all raspy too. What a great start to the-

 _"Now, now, young man. I believe your father was trying to teach you a lesson."_

"GAAAH!" Jaune swore under his breath as he stood frantically from where he had fallen off the edge of his bed in surprise. "What the hell?! Who- where- what the..."

The voice made no reply.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Jaune promptly scoured every inch of his room for hidden alcoves where the owner of the voice he just heard could be. He was not imagining things! Sure, he got nightmares of war and death and stuff, but he absolutely did not hear voices in his head!

After a few minutes of futile searches, Jaune finally calmed down enough to note that his hangover had mostly subsided. The question of why, Jaune figured, having regressed to rational thought once more, was likely his newfound aura.

Now that he thought on it...

He hadn't had a single vision last night. Not one.

He was finally free of his curse.

Jaune sagged in absolute relief and rejoiced, until a terrible thought struck him. A terrible, terrible thought. Not so much a thought but a memory, of the awakening of his aura...

The voice he'd heard, just then...

"Oh no..." He breathed.

 _"I'm afraid your suspicions are correct."_

"AAAGH!" Jaune jumped again, thankfully missing the upholstery this time. "Who the hell are you and why are you in my head?!"

 _"That is a rather long story, and one that should not be explained while still in one's pyjama bottoms."_

"Oh, it's a long story is it? I think it can be summed up by saying my Semblance has _DRIVEN ME INSANE_!"

"Jaune? Why are you yelling, sweetie?" A feminine voice called up the landing. Jaune stiffened.

"E-Everything's fine, m-mom!" He called back falteringly.

"Okay!" A note of doubt could be detected in her voice, but his mother left it be.

"Okay..." Jaune hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm going to shower. I'm going to get dressed. I'm going to go downstairs, eat breakfast with my family, and there will be no voice. Not one! No disembodied voices for Jaune Arc, no sirree - Jaune Arc doesn't hear disembodied voices. Jaune Arc is a _normal, teenage-_ "

"Jaune! Are you going to use the shower or what?!" A different female voice called through his door.

"CAN'T A GUY GET ONE GODDAMN MOMENT OF PEACE?!" Jaune roared in abject frustration.

"No! Get in the shower now or don't shower at all!"

" _AAAARGH_!"

Indeed, Jaune's day had not started well at all.

* * *

"Is everything alright, Jaune?" His dad asked as he staggered his way down the stairs. Jaune sent a baleful glare his way and said nothing. "Come on now son, I'm sorry! Look, I made a nice big plate of bacon and eggs for you!"

Jaune took one look and turned away, swallowing thickly.

"No thanks. I'm good." He muttered.

"It's not polite to turn down someone when they've cooked food for you, Jaune." His father continued, face twitching oddly. Jaune sent him a half-nauseous look askance through his eyelashes.

"It's also not polite to throw up on someone's shirt, but I'm sure I'll find a way if you bring that near me." Jaune threatened, making his way across the room but keeping a good margin between him and the (admittedly, on any other occasion) delicious looking food.

"Where are you going?" A strange shift in his tone drove Jaune that much closer to trying to clobber the man with the family sword.

"Outside. I think I need some... _fresh air_." Jaune gritted out, and as he slammed the door behind him, he could swear he heard his father's laughter.

* * *

Jaune sat outside in the Arc garden, thinking. His mood had subsided now, mostly; the hangover had faded to a distant ache, and he could see his father's point now; all things in moderation.

"Jaune."

Speak of the devil...

"Hey dad." Jaune sent a slightly exasperated grin at his dad over his shoulder. The man lumbered around the bench and sat beside him, looking out at the fields and forests that made up the World Outside the Walls.

"The view's beautiful, isn't it?" His father spoke. "Untouched by humans or faunus... humanity has a habit of screwing up everything it touches."

"... Yeah, pretty much."

"Do you know why people don't just unlock everyone's auras, Jaune?" His father asked. Jaune turned, to face his own deep blue eyes staring right back at him, but older, wiser.

"..." Jaune waited for his father to continue.

"Surely, we could beat back the Grimm if we just used everyone at our disposal... we probably _could_." His father sighed and sat back. "It's what would come _after_ that scares people. When you have a society where half the population has superpowers, opinions and loyalties become a hell of a lot more significant."

"Like the White Fang." Jaune's town was pretty cut-off from the world, but he knew of the group's spiral into terrorism.

"Few of the men in the White Fang have their aura unlocked, but yes. There'd be war, and it would be brutal on a scale never before seen. No, it's better this way, having Huntsmen trained and vetted by the academies, even if it means a slow, pitched fight against the Grimm to reclaim the world."

"They stop the malicious ones from gaining power." Jaune realised.

"Yep. You got it, son. Huntsmen operate under different laws, and the legislation for aura-unlocked individuals is... _sketchy_. Aura-users are always stronger and faster than civilians. They prevent accidental manslaughter by regulating and restricting the aura-user's freedoms with regard to self defence; if you have the power, surely you can use it to nonlethally subdue your adversary, right?"

"Not always." Commented the boy.

"Not always." Echoed his father. "Which is why you need to learn to fight, Jaune."

Jaune turned, an expression of surprise on his face. His father stared wearily back.

"I'm not encouraging you to become a Huntsman, Jaune. But the law is clear: there are fewer protections afforded to aura-users and you need to be at least competent in a fight." His father took a breath. "You didn't ask for any of this, but we have to make the best of what we have, and now that means getting you into fighting shape. There's nothing... _nothing_ I'd hate more than if something were to happen to you, son."

Jaune stared back with wide eyes, before giving in to his heart's command and embracing his father strongly. He felt warm arms encircle his back and let himself relax just that little bit more - he could finally be around his family again.

* * *

 _Some time later..._

Jaune took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He had successfully retreated to his room after parting ways with his father without arousing undue suspicion. The door was shut and the crack was padded with pillows. It was what he planned on doing next that was difficult.

"So..." He spoke, and sure enough, he heard a reply.

 _"Hello."_

It was... odd. The voice was strong and confident, yet oddly distant, with the faintest of echoes. Jaune likened it to something of a... benign possession, by a ghost; a presence, watching, experiencing what he did. Guiding his actions, perhaps. He could feel the ripples of emotions in his mind, suppressed and well-hidden but clearly not his own.

"... I have several questions." Jaune continued.

 _"I will answer them to the best of my ability."_

Jaune sighed. "You said your name is Professor Ozpin."

 _"It is indeed."_ No sense of a lie.

"As in, _Headmaster of Beacon Academy_ , Ozpin. Who is apparently dead."

 _"The very same."_

"And you're what... a ghost?" Jaune threw his hands up in exasperation with the whole thing, resigned to the likelihood that he was, in fact, insane.

 _"I am cursed, Jaune. When I die, I reincarnate into the mind of someone like me, to continue the fight against the enemies of Humanity. To put it simply, we share a soul now."_

"Cursed? How the hell did you end up _cursed_?" He paused a minute. "Actually, you can explain that later, along with everything else you're not telling me." The teenager had been enlightened by his loving and caring father as to the intricacies of aura earlier that day, and he was still trying to reconcile it with what he was learning. "You're telling me I have your aura now."

 _"The amount, yes, without any real distinction between the two. The sheer amount you now possess is, quite frankly, terrifying."_

"Really?" Jaune asked in curiosity. "I have a big aura?"

 _"The Arc family is renowned for their warriors and their superb aura capacity. I myself was the headmaster of Beacon Academy, a position, not to brag, that requires an immense degree of aptitude. Put them together..."_

"Well, that's one point to insanity..." Muttered Jaune, sighing and sitting down on his bed. An important thought occurred. "How did you- I mean..."

 _"Die?"_ Ozpin sounded vaguely amused, perhaps by his hesitance. _"I was murdered. Quite brutally, in fact, by a man named Hazel. Hazel Rainart._ "

Jaune's eyes widened. "Murdered."

 _"This man is also now likely searching for my reincarnation - you."_

"Ohhhhh... shit."

 _"Indeed. We haven't much time to waste."_

"Woah, hey, I need more details than that Prof." Jaune's eyes narrowed. "I'm sick of not knowing what's going on. You have the answers. _Spill_."

Ozpin sighed. Then, he began talking.

He weaved a tale of magic, maidens, gods and the Grimm-Queen Salem. Because, apparently, humanity did have a sentient, malicious enemy beyond the monsters that roamed the dead-zones, _magic_ was a thing, and Ozpin - and now Jaune too, evidently - was a soul-hopping _wizard_.

"That's..." Jaune trailed off. "I can see why you don't tell people, you'd have entire governments wetting themselves in fear, but..."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

It shattered his perceptions of the world as he knew it. Six or seven months ago he would have never believed in any of it. But the visions... Jaune mulled it all over in his head (the bit that wasn't currently under occupation by the Wizard, that was). Months of fear, fatigue and mental anguish had a way of distorting one's view of what was real or fiction... and it made too much sense, in a weird way.

 _"It's a lot to take in. I too went through the same confusion."_

"Yeah? And what about the visions?" Jaune demanded resentfully. "What the hell were those about? Did you get them, too? They've been screwing around with my life for months!"

 _"Regrettably, they were because of me. An unforeseen side-effect of the soul-transfer. They are the memories of previous hosts - mostly, you received mine and my predecessor's. Unfortunate, really, given that before Beacon I was the King of Vale. You likely saw my memories of the Great War."_

The Great War... that would explain a lot. The primitive technology, the mass, pitched battles... it was all coming together.

 _"You must understand, you are the oldest host I've ever had; your age and... mental development, combined with your immense latent aura... the merging of our souls was a slow and quite difficult one."_

Jaune sighed. "... One more thing. How exactly did you end up being killed? Because I want to stay far the hell away from that until I'm good and ready."

 _"... Salem utilised the terrorist faction White Fang as a scapegoat to stage a sudden assault on Beacon Academy. Normally this would have been suicide, charging into a fortress of highly trained aura-users, but... She knew, somehow, the very day my deputy and Huntsmen staff were scheduled to go on break, leaving me remaining to defend the Relic. There was a traitor in my ranks... I was ambushed by Hazel and another."_

Ozpin's voice was dark. It was clear to Jaune that such betrayal had struck him quite hard, even for a hardened, millennia-old wizard - he found it likely Oz had vetted his allies intensely for the prevention of such a situation.

 _"I can give you access to the memory if you really want to see it. I managed to stall and injure the two long enough that a close colleague and ally of mine, a man named Qrow, could arrive, intervene and helped drive them away, but I was poisoned and weak... I did not survive. I suspect that Beacon has been in high alert for the last six months."_ Ozpin sighed again, sounding every bit as old as he claimed to be. _"Your town is isolated, and it's likely the news was suppressed to prevent negativity among the populous. Most likely, I died of 'natural causes'."_

Jaune kept silent, considering what he'd heard.

Ozpin continued. _"I don't normally pressure new hosts quite this quickly... but the war is coming to a head, and we must be there when the enemy make their move. I need your help, Jaune. I cannot fight without you."_

"And you're working for the good of humanity. You want me to be the hero."

" _Yes_." Ozpin stated frankly.

Heroism. The selfsame concept he'd grown so disillusioned to over the last 6 months. War, genocide, slaughter, torture, subterfuge... those were the things that made 'heroes'. No, Jaune had decided he didn't want to be a hero, he wanted to be alive, thank you very much - and then, this had happened.

But if what Ozpin said was true, then he had one hell of a responsibility... his family, his dwindling pocket of friends... his species. It had fallen to him to save the world.

Well, wasn't that ironic.

Ozpin, hearing Jaune's internal monologue, chimed in with his own two Lien. _"One often meets their destiny on the road they take to avoid it, Jaune. You have a grave duty to uphold now. Make your father proud."_

"... You're never going to try and influence what I do, understand? We're going to have a long conversation about boundaries, since apparently you're now a permanent fixture."

Ozpin was silent for a telling moment. _"Very well."_

He wasn't being truthful. Jaune could tell. Something would inevitably occur to influence his judgement... and wasn't that a terrifying thought.

But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that - right when he had finally found himself free from the constant visions (or "episodes" as his father had colloquially taken to calling them), this magical entity had seen fit to place the fate of the world on his shoulders, and now he had to leave them all behind.

Jaune's heart sank. He'd already made up his mind and it hurt to admit.

"... Tell me what I have to do."

 **(A/N) Ho-o-o-oly shit.**

 **I did not expect the response I got when I drafted the first chapter while waiting for the UFC's Khabib v. McGregor fight. 12 hours in, more than 45 follows and 30 favourites... I may be an Englishman but I'm no Coeur Al'Aran.**

 **That said, to everyone who took the time to favourite, follow and/or comment: thank you so much! It means a lot to have people tell you your work is great and even more so to get this kind of success out of the blue.**

 **To respond to a few commenters' questions, I have slightly altered the reincarnation cycle. This is AU, stemming from the point Ozpin was killed; there will be some serious butterflies coming off that. Jaune isn't taking and of Oz's shit this time around, and he's determined to know what he's walking into.**

 **As for the pairing... if there will be one, it will be decided by where the story takes me. If it wasn't immediately obvious by my earlier statement, this was never meant to extend beyond a one-shot; I'm still hashing out ideas, so the option is there.**

 **IMPORTANT: Would you prefer frequent, shorter chapters or less frequent and longer ones? Let me know in a review!**

 **Enough from me, however.**

 **Leave a comment, favourite, follow... as a wise man once said, REVIEWS ARE THE FUEL TO THE FIRE THAT IS MY CREATIVITY.**


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